


heaven is on fire

by MajorinMonster



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Natural Disasters, Some minor violence, as if i forgot to add a summary whoops thats fixed now, but nothing gory or gross really, its not the actual end of the world its just that i like lucas am a drama hoe, lucas is a dramatic boi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorinMonster/pseuds/MajorinMonster
Summary: They break up on a Monday and Lucas' world metaphorically ends.On Tuesday, however, 'the end' becomes a whole lot more literal, and in the chaos that follows all he can think of is finding a way back to Eliott.





	1. all i see is black and white

**Author's Note:**

> for those of you following my hand crisis have no fear im on the mend! i do have an x-ray appointment and a blood test to figure out whats going off but im not in as much pain, and this chapter was almost all written via voice to word so don't worry!
> 
> title and chapter name is from heaven by Amber Run, i have a playlist for this fic and each chapter title will probably take a lyric from one of the songs. the entire fic as a whole was inspired by not being able to stop listening to Everything by MUNA, make of that what you will haha, i promise this won't be TOO angsty but it will have it's moments. 
> 
> "And at the bar, on TV  
> They were talking about the casualties  
> Four hundred and counting  
> And my only question  
> Was, how would you feel if one was me?"  
> \--MUNA, everything

Eliott breaks up with him on a Monday.

The ground is damp with the beginning of rain, but Lucas is numb and afraid and he doesn’t even notice the storm when it starts. This fight has been raging for weeks. Like the ebb and flow of the ocean tide it creeps and creeps and recedes and each time it feels brand new, like Lucas forgot how deep the sea could go. He always steps in expecting it to touch his ankles, but it swallows him whole every time.

Lucas knows that leaving was the right thing to do. He does. _He does_ . He couldn’t be in that apartment, staring at Eliott from across the room and watching while he packed his bags. He knows that he made the right choice in not sticking around but-- _but_ . He’s been wrong before. He’s only human. He doesn’t know everything, in fact he barely knows _anything_ in the grand scheme of things.

Maybe if he’d stayed Eliott would have changed his mind.

There’s a voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Lucille’s, although he hasn’t spoken to her in the three years it’s been since Eliott’s manic episode on the boat and the meet up that followed.

_Wait for him. He will always come back to you._

It’s ironic, in a way, that it’s Lucille’s words of wisdom that find him now, only half an hour after Eliott had accused him of being just like her.

 

Their final fight had come in from two sides.

Lucas had started it; he’d found a letter addressed to Eliott about a month ago. One innocent piece of paper, crinkled and folded and thrown into the bin. He hadn’t even meant to look at it, but it had fallen out of a hole at the bottom of the bag when he’d been replacing the liner in the small bin in their bedroom. He’d picked it up with the intention of stuffing it back into its rightful place, but the stamp at the top had caught his attention. _University of Arts, London_ . And of course, what coincidence had started, curiosity had finished. Lucas hadn’t been able to stop himself from scanning the short letter. The _acceptance_ letter, offering Eliott a place at the school along with a scholarship. Lucas hadn’t even know Eliott had applied to anywhere outside of Paris and yet the proof was in his hand.

Eliott had been working freelance after finishing high school, doing odd jobs and working on commission, just waiting for the right opportunity to raise its head and look in his direction. There had been discussions of art schools in France, but never of anywhere further afield. Eliott hadn’t even hinted that that was what he wanted, though it didn’t surprise Lucas, really; art was as much a part of Eliott as Lucas was. Art had brought them together, cemented them in paint. Eliott inhales art like he inhales oxygen, and Lucas is sure that the deprivation of one would kill him just as surely as the other, so of course he’d applied to one of the best art schools in the world.

“You’re all I want.” Eliott had insisted, when Lucas had confronted him the first time around, weeks ago, waving the letter under his nose with a single raised eyebrow and a lot of fake bravado that did little to hide the way his heart was on a mission to beat its way out of his chest.

“You applied for a reason, there must have been a part of you that wanted to go.” _A part of you that wanted to leave me._

“Not really.” Eliott had shrugged, uncomfortable. His arms were crossed firmly over his chest, and he wasn’t quite meeting Lucas’ gaze. “I just wanted to know if they’d accept me or not. It was less about the going and more about the curiosity of whether they’d want me if I wanted them. Which I don’t.” _Right_. “I don’t, Lucas. Stop looking at me like that.”

“It's a whole scholarship! They even say they'll help towards accommodation fees! It could be so good for you! ” Lucas had insisted eventually, when he’d managed to tuck that little voice screaming _‘don’t leave me behind!’_ into the back of his brain. He wasn’t sure if he believed Eliott at this point, but it didn’t really matter. This was an opportunity that Eliott couldn’t ignore. Lucas had researched the school before taking his thoughts to Eliott and it was a fantastic university. “We could try the long distance thing, we wouldn’t have to break up if that’s what you’re worried about.” It will probably be difficult at first, but with technology it wasn't impossible.

“Why would I want to do long distance when I can be here, right next to you, sleeping in the same bed, eating at the same table, picking up every damned sock you insist on leaving on the bathroom floor?” Eliott had tried to play it off as a joke with that last line, had even attempted a smile, but the look in his eyes had been desolate. Lucas had ached to wipe it away, to agree and let the argument drift out to sea like a plastic bag, sure to capture and kill some innocent creature down the line, but not currently an issue.

“Eliott--”

“I don’t know why you’re pushing this so much. Do you _want_ me to move to a whole other country??”

“Of course not, but some things are--”

“If you’re about to say some things are more important than what you want, or worse, more important than _love_ , then maybe you don’t really know me at all.”

And so Lucas had resolved to let it go. He’d tried not to bring it up again, he had. But sometimes he’d lie awake at night wondering where Eliott would be if Lucas wasn’t holding him back, and then second guessing himself about whether he was even important enough to factor into Eliott’s decision to stay or not. He’d made little hints, over the past month, brought up the price of tickets to London, the possibility of a mini break to check out the tourist attractions and galleries, but Eliott had known exactly what Lucas had been up to each and every time, and he hadn’t taken any of the pieces of bait Lucas had tempted him with.

And, like he’d known it would, eventually the little plastic bag had followed the current and found the bigger problem, had stuck to all the other little plastic bags until they’d formed an undeniable, unnatural island in the middle of the ocean that was their relationship.

 

While Eliott had been keeping busy, Lucas had been working in the evenings and on Saturday afternoons, at a little cafe around the corner from their apartment. He spent the rest of his week, when not with Eliott or his friends, in University, studying music, of all things. Through Eliott, Lucas’ love of the piano had spiralled. From that first night at Eliott’s apartment, back before they had any idea of where their lives would take them, of how entwined they’d end up, the piano had become just as much a part of Lucas’ destiny as Eliott himself had. His love of music had already been deep rooted, a seed planted by his mother years ago. It had just taken Eliott to give it a little love and encouragement so that it could grow.

Whenever he had a moment spare he would sequester himself in the music room at the university. Eliott would show up sometimes to surprise him with lunch, or to do his own work in the corner while Lucas played. On the Thursday before their break up, Eliott had dropped by with take out from their favourite italian restaurant, and Lucas had been in the middle of composing something with another boy.

Tyler was in the year above him, a true prodigy with half of the musical instruments in the room. Lucas had been prepared to beg for the chance to play with him, but in the end he hadn’t had to.

Tyler had taken one look at Lucas’ face, let his gaze trail down Lucas’ body, and then agreed with a smirk.

Lucas had been uncomfortable from the start-- he’d taken any opportunity to talk about Eliott while Tyler was in earshot, just so that there were no misunderstandings in what Lucas wanted from their interactions. He’d been lucky, Tyler hadn’t really made any kind of move towards Lucas that Lucas would interpret as flirting, but he did have a habit of sitting too close and leaning into Lucas’ space. Lucas had known that Eliott was jealous from the second he’d turned around at the sound of his boyfriend clearing his throat. Eliott’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes were quietly on fire. Lucas had calmly left the piano bench-- jumping up in a panic would have just made Eliott think there really was something to be worried about when there really wasn't-- and when he’d reached Eliott he’d wrapped his arms around Eliott’s neck and tugged him down for a lingering kiss. Eliott had seemed happier after that, if a little smug whenever he glanced at Tyler, and Lucas had left with him less than an hour later.

He had figured that would be the end of it, but a few days later when the tension between them began boiling over again and Lucas had brought up a sudden interest in wanting to see the National Gallery in London, Eliott hadn’t been able to resist.

“I really don’t understand why you’re so desperate for me to go to London. Is this because of Tyler?” And sure, Lucas was being annoying. He could understand that; Eliott had told him to leave the London thing alone but Lucas was picking at it like he would a particularly itchy scab. But as much as Lucas was aware of how irritating this must be for Eliott, and as much as that wasn’t stopping him, bringing Tyler into it had blindsided him for an awkward moment in which his jaw had physically dropped and his eyes had practically fallen out of his head with how wide they were.

“...Are you _kidding_ me?” When he had finally found his voice his words had been shaky, somewhat closer to furious than he’d been aiming for. 0-100mph in less than a minute; if he were a car, his engine would be smoking.

“What? You guys looked cosy on that piano bench.” Eliott had practically spat the words at him, but Lucas hadn’t flinched. He hadn't _allowed_ himself to flinch; he refused to give Eliott the satisfaction when Eliott was just going for the cheap hits.

“Eliott. We _had_ to be sat together to be able to reach the keys we needed. Are you really suggesting i’m cheating on you?”

It took longer than Lucas was comfortable with, but eventually Eliott had replied. “No.” He had muttered, lifting his hands and rubbing them over his face with a heavy sigh that reverberated through the room and straight into Lucas’ heart. “No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me. I shouldn't have said it like that, I’m sorry. But maybe there’s something there, not an affair but, I don’t know. Some kind of hidden desire. Why else would you be pushing me away?”

“Where is this even coming from? Because I sat next to him once? In that case I’m also interested in the mother of three I sit near on the bus to university! Oh, and we can’t forget that old man who sometimes sits on our buildings steps to feed the birds! I have to pass him most mornings, so I must be secretly in love with him!”  Lucas had paced the room, frustrated steps taking him from one end to the other. “And I’m not pushing you away!”

 _“I don’t know,_ Lucas. You always talk about how talented he is. How much he’s doing with his life. Maybe you need someone more driven. Maybe that’s why you’re trying to get me to go to this art school, because you think I should be more like _him_.”

“Eliott, _oh my god_ I’ve mentioned him like twice, maybe three times in passing. And I’m just trying to get you to consider London. I’m not packing your bags for you. I just think it’s something you should put some serious thought into, proper _serious_ thought, instead of just brushing it off. Other than actually applying you haven’t even entertained the idea of going. You’re _so_ talented. And I just want what’s best for you.”

“You know what? You’re starting to sound like Lucille. Next thing you’ll be telling me off for drinking more than three beers a month.”

“Are you _serious_?” Lucas’ hands had clenched by his side as he envisioned them wrapped around Eliott’s throat for a seething, delirious second. “Eliott! This is _completely_ different. I don’t hound you about your bipolar, I’m just trying to get you to consider a good school!”

“You’re trying to control me.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then let it go!”

“Fine!”

“ _Fine_.”

They had stared at each other, the atmosphere frothing with tension. As much as they’d both said it was, nothing about the situation was ‘fine,’ in any way, shape or form.

“I think we should take a break.” The words were dragged out of Eliott’s chest, from somewhere deep and buried and dark. Lucas could hear the mud between each syllable.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “I’ll make dinner I guess, you haven’t eaten much today. We can talk after--”

“No, Lucas. I mean a real break. From each other.”

“You’re _breaking up with me_?” Usually when he was with Eliott everything seemed brighter and more intense, like they were an instagram photo someone had turned the saturation up to 100 on. As soon as Eliott had finished speaking it was like the colour had been sucked from the room. Everything was monotone. Even Lucas’ own voice sounded flat.

“ _No_. I’m not. I’m asking for a break. I think we need a little time apart. Everything is so--”

“--This isn’t an episode of _fucking F.R.I.E.N.D.S.”_ Lucas was more shrill than he’d ever been before. “And I’m not a library book. You don’t get to return me because you’re bored, and just expect that I’ll still be on the shelf when you change your mind!” Lucas was aware that he was shouting by this point, that the neighbours would probably be complaining like they always did when Eliott played his dubstep a little too loud for their tastes.

“I’m not _bored_ , Lucas, don’t be ridiculous. This is as much for you as it is for me.”

“And how exactly did you figure _that_ out? I can’t believe you think _I’m_ the one being ridiculous here.”

“We’ve been together for three years, we moved in with each other within three months of dating and we’ve been inseparable since. We are codependent and it is _not_ healthy. We spend all our time together. You’re in your second year of university and I’m the only guy you’ve ever kissed.”

“ _So_?”

“So, don’t you think you’re missing out?”

“Of course I’m not missing out-- but that’s besides the point. We were talking about _you_ , not me, and now you’re bringing some random guy up and asking for a break and--” he was shaking, physically shaking. “And it’s obvious what a ‘break’ is code for anyway. You want to break up with me.” Eliott hadn’t corrected him that time, and Lucas had felt a swell of panic well up in his chest like a tidal wave. “I’m sorry, for-- for bugging you about school. I’ll stop, _okay_ ? I’ll stop. And I promise you, Tyler is no one to me, and there hasn’t been one other boy that i’ve wanted to kiss since I met you. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. We’re supposed to spend the rest of our _lives_ together, fancy art school or not.”

“I don’t understand anything either,” Eliott sounded as miserable as Lucas felt. “But we can’t keep doing this. You’re not listening to what I want or what I’m saying.”

“Yeah,” Lucas had choked out, a bitter laugh forcing its way from his throat. “Ditto, _babe_ .” He inhaled sharply, a last attempt to force some oxygen into his lungs and fight off the narrowing of his vision. “Eliott, _please._ ”

“I’m sorry. I just need some time, I’ll stay with a friend for a couple of nights. We can talk about this after-- after we’ve both calmed dow--”

“You know what? _Fuck you_. Do what you want. I’m not going to stop you, wouldn’t want to _control_ you.” _Take it back,_ he had begged himself in the comfort of his own head. _Apologise. You can fix this. This is nothing compared to what we’ve been through._ But he hadn’t said another word, and neither had Eliott. Lucas had watched, tears rolling down his face, as Eliott had pulled out an old duffle bag and started stuffing random items of clothing in. He was avoiding looking in Lucas’ direction, and Lucas couldn’t breathe knowing that everything they’d experienced together was culminating in _this_.

 

He doesn’t even remember physically leaving.

In one moment he had been in their apartment, half numb and half burning, and in the next he’d been here. Sat on a park bench overlooking the lake, feeling like his entire life is crumbling around him.

The writhing storm in his chest has manifested in the sky, in the angriest, loudest, most frustrating example of pathetic fallacy he’s ever experienced. It’s getting late, and the moon is just about peeking through the sullen clouds. Each flash of lightning illuminates the sky and the hopelessness of Lucas’ evening.

He doesn't want to go back home.

Either he’ll get there and Eliott will still be there, in which case the argument will probably start all over again, or he'll get there and Eliott will be gone. He isn't sure which one would make him feel worse. Probably the last. He can just imagine the feeling of pushing open the front door, heart in his mouth after having spent the entire walk back thinking of what to say only to find the apartment silent and empty.

But where else can he go? Basile, Arthur and most of the girl gang are in Italy for the week, Mika and Lisa would ask too many questions and Yann would be too comforting. Lucas doesn't want comforting. He wants Eliott, but since he can't have that he will settle for somewhere with a warm bed and a kettle so we can drown his sorrows in hot chocolate and the hopeful, but not guaranteed, addition of vodka.

In all honesty at this point he would probably settle for anywhere that has a roof. He's soaked to the bone, his clothes are more water than material and his hair resembles a mop that has seen too many floors. As he runs through his mental checklist of friends and family he realises there's really only one place left.

In the time period between high school ending and university starting his mother had been released from the clinic she’d lived in, and moved into shared housing. It was a new project to put patients who were ready to face the outside world on a more permanent basis, with other patients, so they could look out for each other and recognise if any one of them needed more help than was available. Lucas’ mum has taken to it like a duck to water.  

She lives with three other women in a lovely apartment near to the inner city, close enough to have access to all avenues of public transport and plenty of shops, but far enough away that it wasn't heavily populated by tourists. Lucas meets up with her at least once a month, twice if their schedules allow for it, and generally he brings Eliott along with him.

When he imagines his mother now, sitting at home in her apartment, there is a bone deep ache for her familiarity.

It settles somewhere next to the weird hollow feeling in the centre of his chest. An empty space exists now, where before there had been _something_. Some part of Eliott that had found its way between the slats of his rib cage, curling tender fingers around Lucas’ heart. Lucas hadn't even noticed it's presence at the time, not really, but god, the _absence._  There’s no missing that, no escaping. No avoiding.

No fixing.

When he stands up he stumbles; his feet are numb. He has no idea how long he's been sitting here, long enough that the rain is starting to slow, long enough that puddles have formed around the bench, though when he steps in them it makes no difference because his shoes are already sodden. His teeth are chattering, a noisy, constant reminder that he is cold, which in itself serves as a reminder for the reason why.

He tries to walk.

He is unsuccessful.

Not even a minute in and he has to pause to rest against a tree. It isn't that he's tired-- although he does feel drained-- it's that the world doesn't feel right anymore. Something is off-kilter, and he is off balance. It’s like when you're climbing the stairs and you think there's one more step than there is, and when you go to take it your foot falls through empty air where it expects to find solid ground and for a split second, maybe without even realising it, you question everything you know, everything you believed to be fact. How can it be that the ground you thought was so stable, was an illusion?

The walk to his mother's apartment takes longer than it should. Eventually the majority of his balance returns, but still every step feels like the step before the edge of a cliff; you can't quite see the full drop yet, but you can see enough to know that something is coming, and it isn't good.


	2. through the glass i see your face, behind the eyes an empty space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from something's missing by sheppard 
> 
> "Well I was not a bitter man  
> But life I guess had other plans  
> Through the glass I see your face  
> Behind the eyes an empty space  
> Cause I fucked up along the way"
> 
> warnings are at the end if you need them, but nothing super bad happens to the main characters in this chapter so to avoid spoilers i personally wouldnt scroll to see. tags have been updated.

His mother says he will feel better in the morning.

Either his mother is a liar, or she's just way too optimistic.

When the sun reaches through the curtains and attacks his eyes with its vicious stabbing rays, Lucas remembers why he had once declared vodka his mortal enemy. Muscle memory demands that he should roll over to reach out for Eliott, determined to wrap his boyfriend around himself as a shield against the morning, only Eliott isn't there when he flings an arm out in search of him.

Of course he isn't.

Lucas is alone. Just him and the bed sheets, and the too-thin curtains, and the sun that is so dead set on Lucas’ violent murder. He blinks against the light, painful, slow blinks, until he can see enough to at least kind of make out where he is.

He isn't even on a real bed, he realises, just a sofa that has been made up, messily, in the facsimile of one. It brings back a weird wave of deja vu, to another time and place and a sofa where he did not belong. He pushes the thought away in the same movement as he pushes himself into a sitting position, groaning quietly at the jackhammer in his skull. His stomach stages a rebellion, but he squashes it down Darth Vader style.

It takes him an embarrassingly large handful of minutes to dig up the strength to stand, and once he finds his feet after a few precarious wobbling moments, he sets off on a quest to find the bathroom. He's pretty sure he used it last night, but his memories are a blur, and he hasn't really been here since his mother moved in. They usually meet up for lunch or dinner, or she comes to their apartment instead.

Ugh. _Their_ apartment. What's going to happen to that now? Neither of them have the financial means to afford it on their own. Lucas' course at the university isn't expensive, but their apartment is in a decent part of the city, and Lucas only works part-time. Eliott doesn't really have any outgoing fees other than his art supplies and his Netflix account, and he does get paid well for his commissions despite being relatively unknown in the art world, but it's not enough to be able to afford to live there on his own.

But then who knows? Maybe Eliott won’t even want it. Maybe there had been something to Lucas’ worries, maybe he _had_ been a factor involved in Eliott's decision to stay in Paris. Maybe now that Lucas isn't an issue anymore, Eliott’s choice to remain would change.

Lucas shudders. As much as he has pushed the idea, knowing that Eliott could be spending the next three years out of the country, depriving Lucas of even the most coincidental run-ins in their local supermarket and obligatory awkward small talk, fills him with dread.

It's weird; in a way, although he objectively knows how intertwined their lives have become, he hadn't really understood what that meant until they've started to unravel. They haven't gone more than a day or two without speaking to each other since they moved in together. More than a week without seeing each other. Almost everything they own, they've bought together. Maybe Eliott had been right about them being a little too codependent, but Lucas had liked it that way.

Part of him thinks he should be focusing on the more serious consequences of their breakup, but there's a weird tick in his brain and he can't stop wondering who is going to get the toaster or the kettle or the washing machine-- although, actually, neither of them will get the washing machine because it came with the apartment and neither of them can keep the apartment without the other so it's a moot point-- but the other things, their lives together built brick by brick, coffee table by bedside table, welcome mat by shower mat. Nothing is stable anymore.

He rinses his mouth in the bathroom sink, then straightens up to meet his own eyes in the mirror. He looks tired. The bags under his eyes are dark and heavy from the alcohol and the restless sleep. His hair lies flat against his forehead and there are deep pillow creases over his cheeks. He looks too pale underneath the fluorescent lights, washed out and ghostly. He splashes some water over his face, runs his hands through his hair to try to fix the birds nest mess that it has become.

When he leaves the bathroom he almost runs straight into his mother.

“Ooof,” she makes a face, scrunching her nose up like she smelled something past its date in the fridge. She purses her lips. “You might want to take a shower.”

“I don't have any clean clothes here.” He aches with the temptation to go home, to find Eliott, or the blank, empty space he's left behind in their apartment. Either way at least he'd know. Last night's indecision is a light year away; he hadn't been ready then, to face up to whatever this is, and maybe he isn't exactly ready now but he can't wait any longer. Either Eliott will be there, or he won't. Lucas is going to drive himself up the wall if he doesn't know which it is.

“You should go back to the apartment,” his mom nods, ushering him into the kitchen, where a freshly poured cup of coffee is waiting for him. “Pack a bag! You can come with me and the girls tonight! You guys will get a bit of space, and you'll get a holiday out of it too.” By the girls, she means the women she lives with, and he belatedly remembers her telling him that they were all going on a trip to Germany for a week, and that they’re due to fly out tonight.

“No,” Lucas swallows a mouthful of coffee, grimacing a little at the burn at the back of his throat. “No, mom, I’m fine. I don’t wanna intrude on your trip and it's too late now anyway, there's no way I'd manage to get a seat on the plane, never mind a room at the hotel. Plus, I don't exactly have the money for it if I'm going to be moving out of--” he cuts himself off with a wince, absentmindedly rubbing at his temples with his fingertips. His mother slides a pack of painkillers across the counter with a sad half-smile.

“You guys will figure this out. You’re soul mates. There’s no way this is the end for you.”

“You didn’t hear the way he was speaking,” Lucas denies, burrowing into his coffee cup to hide in the steam that rises from it.

“No, but I've seen the way you interact, I've seen the way he looks at you. Couples fight, it's natural.”

“Couples also break up, and that's natural too.”

“Not you two. Lucas,” she waits until he comes out of his mug for long enough to look at her. “Don't give up. If he needs space, let him have it. He'll come back to you, just be patient.” It's so eerily reminiscent of what Lucille had said, years ago, that Lucas can't stop the shiver that ripples down his spine. His mother doesn't notice, but that's probably for the best.

“Okay, mamma.” He forces a smile, and it is as weak and lacklustre as his heart feels, but she doesn't push him for more

She pats his shoulder and presses a kiss to his forehead, before backing off and heading towards her own room. “The offer stands,” she calls over her shoulder. “Let me know if you change your mind, our flight leaves in three hours so we’re heading out soon. And for heaven's sake take a shower!”

He knows he isn't going to change his mind, and it's only a matter of time before he has to go back anyway even ignoring the whole Eliott thing; he really does ache to be clean, so he shoves his shoes on and heads for the door. He calls out a quick goodbye before he leaves and smiles when four distinct voices echo it back at him from their various rooms.

 

Of course, Eliott isn't there.

Lucas had known it the second he walked into the apartment.

There is a certain way that the air feels when there's no one else around; quiet and unlived in. His footsteps seem to echo against the wooden floor as he walks from the front door to the bedroom, eyes roaming and desperate for any sign of Eliott's presence.

The tan jacket is missing from the coat rack. Eliott’s shoes are not on the shoe stand. His keys aren’t hanging from the hook in the kitchen, there are no half empty cups of coffee on the sideboard, no open sketchbooks on the dining table. There is no note to suggest where he might have gone (Lucas even checks under the bed, just in case it has fallen off), although he has a feeling that Eliott might have retreated to Sofiane and Imane’s apartment, especially since Imane is currently in Italy and so there would be no one around to defend Lucas’ honour if Eliott wanted to complain about him.

Lucas stands in the middle of the bedroom for all of a minute before he decides he's had enough. The vodka had helped a little bit, though the hangover it left him with is the cause of some regret, and talking to his mother last night had felt good--  even if he doesn't really remember most of their conversation, but he's changed his mind. He could really do with some comforting, and the best place for that, when Eliott isn't available, is, and has always been, with Yann.

He's calling his best friend’s mobile before he even registers that his phone is in his hand.

 

Yann meets him at the corner outside of their favourite cafe a few hours later. Lucas has showered and changed and even had time for a nap, but if the look on Yann’s face tells him anything it’s that Lucas still looks rough as hell. Yann doesn’t say anything though, just pulls him into a huge bear hug, fingers digging into the back of Lucas’ jacket hard enough that Lucas winces, but doesn’t complain or even consider pulling away.

“First,” Yann finally lets him go and steps back to peer into Lucas’ eyes. “First we order enough coffee that you start to feel human again. And then we order enough cake that you start to feel like a bag of sugar instead of a human. And then, if the coffee and the cake fail, we’ll revisit the vodka.” Lucas groans, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back so that when he opens them all he can see is the sky. “Yeah, you say that now,” Yann says, a little defensive of his strategy, even though Lucas hadn’t technically said anything. “But I know you. Coffee, cake, vodka. In that order. If that doesn’t help then nothing will.”

“Cheers,” Lucas rolls his eyes at the sky, before deigning to look at Yann again. There’s a lot of false bravado shining through in the upturn of his smirk and the waggle of his eyebrows, but Yann’s eyes are as kind as always and Lucas can feel his shoulders relaxing more and more the longer he’s in Yann’s presence.

“C’mon,” Yann throws an arm around his shoulders and tugs him in the direction of the cafe. Lucas drags his feet to demonstrate his unwillingness but they both know it’s a front. If Lucas hadn’t wanted to be there he never would have called Yann, because his best friend is not in the habit of leaving Lucas alone to lick his wounds. He’s very much the opposite, and will in fact try to lick them for him. Lucas screws his face up at the image this metaphor attacks him with, mentally shoving at it while Yann continues to chatter in his ear about the new project he’s working on at uni.

The cafe is quiet when they enter, the low lighting is a balm to Lucas’ hangover and if he had slightly less self control he’d have dropped to the ground to kiss the cool floor as soon as the air conditioning registers against his skin. It isn’t a very big space. It’s rectangular and long, and there are only two lines of tables, one close to the wall near the counter and the other against the floor to ceiling length windows that trail from the door. Despite the size of the glass panels there’s some kind of coating on both sides that keeps them semi transparent but darkens a lot of the natural light.

There’s no queue so they get served straight away and Yann orders enough cake to go with their coffee that by the time they’ve finished the barista is eyeing them with thinly veiled concern. Whether it’s for their blood sugar levels or for the misery that Lucas is probably exuding just by existing, Lucas couldn’t say.

They settle themselves in a corner booth near the windows. Yann takes a photo of the array of cakes to post on instagram while Lucas studies the table, playing with a stray sugar packet. Yann tucks his phone into his pocket after a moment, and folds his hands in front of his face as he leans his elbows on the table.

“So,” Yann prods, when Lucas doesn’t speak up in the first few minutes of silence. “You wanna talk about it?”

“You know what happened, I told you over the phone.”

“Sure, yeah,” Yann leans back with a relaxed shrug, but his eyes are intent on Lucas’ when Lucas finally looks away from the sugar packets and meets his gaze. “I know that you guys have broken up, and what Eliott said and what you said. But you haven’t told me how you plan on winning him back.”

Lucas’ eyebrows shoot up practically all the way to his hairline. “How _I_ plan on winning him back? Don’t you think that should be the other way around? _He’s_ the one who broke up with me in the first place.”

“Well, maybe in a perfect world. But we also know from experience that Eliott is a self sacrificing idiot. And while you’re almost as bad I think he still takes the cake on his one.” Yann reaches over to claim a pastry as if to demonstrate. He shoves half of it into his mouth and struggles to chew around it and talk at the same time. “Honestly, I think you’re both idiots.” He says. “Considering he asked for a break and you jumped straight to break _up_ but then he didn’t exactly help the situation by letting you leave, so I don’t know, man. You shouldn’t have been pushing him, and he shouldn’t have brought up that douche from uni, and you both should have taken at least two chill pills each before letting this escalate, but hey, you’re only idiots in love so I guess I can’t expect too much, right?”

“Hang on a second,” Lucas glares. “You’re _my_ best friend, aren’t you supposed to be on _my_ side with this? Telling me what a dick he is, telling me I’m better off without him?”

“Lucas, Lucas, Lucas,” Yann brushes the crumbs from his shirt absentmindedly. “If I thought that’s what you wanted, sure, I might go down that route, but I have a feeling if I tried to insult him your old angry hedgehog instincts might kick back in and I might end up with a bloody nose. Either way, I wouldn’t lie to you, and I don’t think you’re better off without him. I’ve seen how happy you make each other. It’s sickening and gross and you should both be ashamed of how many single people you’ve made cry just by the presence of your ridiculous Disney love.” He pauses to sip at his coffee, and smirks over the edge of it. “Although _yeah_ sure he can be a dick sometimes-- can’t argue there.”

“It is ridiculous Disney love,” Lucas agrees, miserable. “Or, it _was_.”

“Dude-- leave out on the defeatist bullshit, yeah?”

“But--”

“--Nu uh, no butts unless they belong to Eliott and you’re kissing it to make up-- you know what. I went too far with this analogy, I see that now, you don’t need to give me that look, I can feel the judgement from here and believe me, I regret my choice of words. I need some brain bleach to get that image out of my head before it scars me for life.”

“It’s your own fault,” Lucas says, mildly.

“I am perfectly aware of that, thank _you_.” Yann smushes a piece of carrot cake into his mouth, as if to drown in the icing. Lucas watches, unimpressed and a little envious; his stomach still feels too queasy to even think about eating anything sweet right now. “Let’s move away from this destruction of my dignity and back to the whole winning him back thing we had going on, yeah?”

Lucas doesn’t get a chance to reply, because at that moment the entire world starts shaking.

It begins so suddenly, and it’s so violent, that Lucas doesn’t even have time to react before Yann is dragging him under the table as frames fall from the walls and the lights flicker off, on, off and then refuse to come back on again.

The early evening sun filters in through the windows, and Lucas’ eyes automatically fix onto the light, so he sees the exact moment that half of them shatter and rain glass over the tables closest to the door. Yann yanks him closer, and presses on his head so that Lucas’ face is hidden in Yann’s shoulder, and then he tucks his own head down so that his face is pressed to the top of Lucas’ head. He pulls his jacket off in jerky, rushed movements and tugs at it until it’s over their heads. Lucas doesn’t quite understand why at first, but as the world continues to fall apart around them he hears the sound of glass splintering again and he remembers exactly where it is that they’ve chosen to sit.

His heart is beating double time in his chest. The sound of it is so loud in his ears that he can’t separate where the noise of his own body starts and the noise of the earthquake ends. He digs his fingers into something soft and warm, only loosening his grasp when Yann makes a pained noise in his ear and Lucas realises he’d been digging his fingernails into Yann’s bare arm. The window next to them shatters and Lucas grits his teeth against the urge to scream.

It feels like it goes on forever, like the world will never be still again.

Something heavy thuds against the top of the table and Lucas jerks back, meeting Yann’s eyes at the same time as more heavy sounds echo around them and the table groans under the weight of rock. A cup of coffee explodes above them as something hits it, and hot liquid drips over the edge of the tabletop and down onto Yann’s neck. He flinches and shuffles closer to Lucas to avoid it.

“The roof,” Yann shouts over the din, gesturing frantically at the ceiling as much as he can from where they’re sat huddled together under the thick wood of the table. “The roof is coming down.”

“What do we _do_?” Lucas’ hands scrabble uselessly against the floor, trying to steady himself.

They turn as one to look to the empty window frame, to the glass that litters the floor and most of their clothes. There isn’t much space to move, but it’s a question of staying under the table while the cafe comes down around them, or the risk of getting cut to ribbons trying to escape, and Lucas knows which he prefers. Yann nods at him, expression resolute and brave.

He glances back only once as Yann shoves him from under the table and towards the light, and wishes he hadn’t. The sight of the barista, pinned to the counter by a chunk of rock the size of a small child, brands itself to the inside of his eyelids. It’s all he can see when he blinks. Her dead eyes, fixed on him as he tumbles through the empty window frame, will haunt him for the rest of his life, however long or short that ends up being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: an earthquake, property damage, some very minor violence that you dont see but that ends with a very minor unnamed character death.
> 
> couldnt help but have that chapter title what with the glass and the eyes with the empty space asdfghj. 
> 
> i'd love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter!
> 
> Also disclaimer I know nothing about earthquakes and have never experienced one this is all from action movies I’ve seen and the minor research I’ve done

**Author's Note:**

> im hoping you guys like this! ive been wanting to write it for ages. 
> 
> im not sure when the updates will be coming, most of chapter 2 is already written but im not going to throw myself into it like i did with Fragments. i'm feeling kind of low and sad at the minute and its a bit of a double edged sword because on the one hand writing is a great distraction but on the other hand ive been doing a lot of laying around in bed and avoiding the world so motivation is proving to be a bit of an issue, which is why i decided to start posting this now, im hoping that if you all do like it and decide to leave comments it'll give me the boost i need like it did with Fragments! 
> 
> thank you for reading <3 see you next time!
> 
> p.s. i kind of feel like the argument might be a lil out of character but i needed it for plot reasons so im sorry if it comes across that way! it took ages to think of something that i could actually see them fighting seriously about.


End file.
